


Well Loved Hands

by LegolasLovely



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Gore, Nail Biting, Post-Quest of Erebor, Self-Harm, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25130011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegolasLovely/pseuds/LegolasLovely
Summary: Fíli had all the ‘good kinds’ of flaws. "Too kind, too trusting, too generous for his own good." However, they all boiled down to one unhealthy and rather harmful habit. But Kíli never judged, only soothed.
Relationships: Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	Well Loved Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you dreams of wander for your help with this as I tried to keep it safe for readers!
> 
> **Warnings: self-harm- nail biting (not gratuitous), injury, light gore if that’s a thing, smut, comfort, Post Quest of Erebor, everyone lives, nobody dies!
> 
> ûrzudel: sun of suns

When those around him looked at Fíli, it was always with a smile and sparkling eyes of pure admiration. The mothers of Erebor would speak of his enormous heart and how they wished he would take their daughter for his wife. The fathers would puff out their chests and say with absolute certainty that Fíli would be a great king for Erebor. The children would play make believe and fight over who got to play Prince Fíli with his swords and daggers that sliced open fierce orcs in battle. If any dwarf dared to ask about the heir’s flaws, he would be booted out of Erebor faster than he could say, “Gandalf is a troublemaker.”

Those who knew Fíli better, such as those in Thorin’s Company, would roll their eyes at Erebor’s blind and undying love for the young prince. But all the while, they’d never say a bad word about Thorin’s nephew, because Fíli truly was worthy of the adoration he attracted. 

“That lad only has those _good_ kinds of flaws,” Dwalin said.

“He’s _too_ kind-”

“ _Too_ trusting-”

“ _Too_ generous for his own good!”

Like the humble dwarf he was, Fíli shooed these ‘compliments’ away, ears flaming at the joking insults that were more like glowing praise. 

Kíli took his hand under the table and ran his thumb over the back of Fíli’s fingers. Though Fíli sent a squeeze in return and tilted his head in Kíli’s direction, he wouldn’t look at his little brother. Right now, Fíli was embarrassed, and not just because of the praise from their friends. Little pin pricks of shame poked Fíli’s already scarlet cheeks because he knew _I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it._

Kíli scooted closer, ignoring the rolling of his gut, and wished the two of them were alone so he could kiss Fíli well enough and hold him tight enough to make him believe that everything was okay. 

***

Fíli did have all the ‘good kinds’ of flaws. But they all boiled down to one unhealthy and rather harmful habit. He bit his nails. And not in a cute or charming way that someone could ignore or fall in love with. Fíli chewed and pulled and picked at his nails until his finger tips bled. If he was anxious during meetings, stressed throughout the night, or nervous at the dinner table, he was sure to be hiding his hands from curious, condemning eyes. 

But Kíli never judged. Only soothed.

That night he massaged cream into Fíli’s skin, holding back a wince, a gasp, a tsk, as Fíli let out a hiss of pain. 

“I didn’t know I was doing it.”

“I know,” Kíli said.

“I thought I was doing better.”

Kíli dipped another clean, healthy finger in the cool, smooth ointment and rubbed it into Fíli’s short, sharp nails and screaming red skin. 

“You are.”

Kíli couldn’t help but wonder about his brother’s habit. Was this something unique to Fíli, or did this happen to other dwarves? Perhaps humans or hobbits? Kíli had suggested going to a medic again, asking more questions, but the one visit for the cream was enough for Fíli. _I can fix this myself_ , he’d said.

So Kíli kept his secret and helped him heal, though his goal was to stop his brother from harming himself this way. From lashing out against the label of _The Golden Prince_. And Kíli had his ways.

***

Being the nephew of the king meant Kíli too had to be present at most meetings involving the dwarven realms, though he’d rather be anywhere else. Spending his time working in the forge, training with the army, or even exhausting himself in the dwarfling nurseries seemed much better options than sitting, trapped in the throne or council rooms from dawn to dusk. These preferences were well known by all involved and one would think he’d run from his responsibilities at record-breaking speeds if given the chance. Some conversations, after all, were not for every ear in the council. 

However, his escape meant leaving Fíli alone for an untold number of hours in an unbearably stressful environment. 

So Kíli would stay. He’d wriggle his way to the head of the table, between his uncle and his brother because _he wanted to learn, he wanted to be a part of what made the council great._ He _wanted_ to be right there if his brother needed him.

Though for most of the day, Fíli didn’t need him. He sat with both hands glued to either arm of his chair, calmly listening to various problems and solutions to the kingdom’s needs. Thorin asked for his opinion on multiple occasions and Fíli was brilliant. He’d learned much from his studies and apprenticing, but he also had intuition that a realm could trust with their lives. Kíli was proud.

Kíli was still proud when Thorin and his brother disagreed. 

“You think _that_ would be a good move for our people?” Thorin yelled across the table, ignoring the awkward fidgeting of the other guests sitting around it. “Have you _completely_ _forgotten_ …”

Kíli stopped listening to his uncle’s growling. Instead, he watched Fíli. Though he didn’t shrink from the harsh words or the harsher voice, his hands did slide into his lap from the arms of the chair. Kíli could just hear his nails clicking over Thorin’s unjust shrieking.

Secretly and sneakily, without drawing the gaze of any of the distracted council members, Kíli ran his fingers down Fíli’s forearm and pulled his hands apart before Fíli could inflict any more damage to his already torn up skin. He held Fíli tight and felt him breathe deeply, as if his head had been yanked above an unforgiving riptide. 

“Uncle,” Fíli interrupted. “I know our kingdom’s history. But I have also done the research and our land has changed since we last ruled it. I am confident that…”

Kíli loosened his grasp, sure that Fíli could handle the rest of the conversation alone, but Fíli held on. He kept their hands comfortably in between them, lacing their fingers together - a small embrace that remained there for the rest of the meeting.

***

Kíli couldn’t always be by Fíli’s side. He had his own duties, his own life, and there were often full days the brothers spent apart. Most of the time, Fíli would catch him stealing a late dinner from the kitchens long after its doors had been closed to servants and others in the mountain. They’d talk over their days and stuff themselves full (to the prep cooks’ morning despair) and somehow find the strength to amble back to their chambers.

Some nights were different. Occasionally, Kíli would slowly turn the knob on their door and curse the loud creak of the hinges as he opened it, hoping such an argument wouldn’t wake his sleeping brother. But as the door slid ajar, candlelight flooded the corridor. Fíli was still awake, drenching his hands in the healing cream the medic had told him not to administer by himself. 

But Kíli wouldn’t admonish, not now. He sat on the bed and took the jar away from Fíli, seamlessly replacing the broken fingers with his own.

“I can do it,” Fíli said.

“I know.”

Without another word, one brother took care of the other. Kíli massaged until the cream had soaked into the skin and disappeared, but even with his tender touch and calming presence, Fíli still sat on the bed like stone. Too proud to be disgraced, too strong to crumble, too old to need his little brother.

Kíli lifted Fíli’s hand and kissed the back of it. His kisses traveled down the wide hand, lingering over stubby, well loved fingers, gracing harsh, abused tips and nails. One kiss was granted to the palm before Kíli lifted the other hand, giving it the same treatment until Fíli let the callused inside caress Kíli’s equally rough cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Not for his pride or his distance, but for failing. Again.

Kíli replaced the lid on the jar and cast it away on the side table before wrapping his arms around Fíli’s shoulders and pulling him down to settle together on the bed. Tonight, Kíli took control of the kiss, converting it from one of apologies and promises to do better into one of acceptance and support and adoration.

He gave caresses of commitment over Fíli’s shoulders and up his bare back under his tunic. Smooth fingertips fondly followed thick curls of soft, golden fur over a heaving chest, down a flat belly and into loose trousers, while hips ground and thrust together - lacking discipline, but coursing with thirst.

Fíli hid his face in Kíli’s neck when Kíli found his erection, throbbing with arousal and defying the ugly burdens of the day. He huffed a curse as a talented thumb circled his head, digging his nose into his lover’s pulse.

“Please, Kíli, I need-”

“I know, ûrzudel.”

With every pull, Kíli pledged it - “I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you, I love you.” He felt Fíli’s tears slip from the corners of his eyes and down his skin - tears of desire, of frustration and desperation, of stress and release, of love and gratefulness for his brother. 

***

Fíli had to be protected and taken care of, yes, but he was not to be coddled. Kíli learned this very early on when he was so scared and so concerned, that he was much too patronizing. Then, Fíli’s bellowing had bounced off the walls of his chambers, and the jar of cream off the stone floor as Fíli threw it far away. There was nothing wrong with him and if there was, he could fix it himself. He didn’t need his _baby_ brother _babying_ him.

The secret, Kíli learned, was to keep his brother’s hands busy.

Kíli would ask him to re-braid his hair. Yes, Fíli had just done it and yes, it looked fine, but there’s something pulling right _there_ and it would bother him all day if it wasn’t fixed. 

Or Kíli would plop on the bed, making it bounce so Fíli lost his page in the book he was reading. With a great, big apologetic smile, he would wriggle between Fíli’s legs and beg his older brother to rub his shoulders because it feels so good or he had a headache or he couldn’t quite reach that itchy spot by himself. Just like that, Fíli would stop reading his book about Ereborean wars and quit chewing on his already very short thumbnail. 

Kíli was clever with his courting gifts. _Just because we’re brothers doesn’t mean we’re not courting, which means we ought to exchange courting gifts, right?_ Right. This led to Fíli walking into his chambers and seeing his desk covered with impeccably wrapped boxes and bow-tied bags. 

_Stop staring at me and open it,_ earned Kíli a few balls of ribbon chucked his way. However, Fíli was soon too astonished to punish his brother any more for his disrespect. Piles of wrapping lay on the ground, but on the desk sat something perfectly combined - a perfect set.

_Paints_? Oil paints and watercolors and acrylics, along with parchments, books and canvases of all sizes, collections of brushes - anything he’d need. But Kíli’s favorite piece was a blending palette that would ensure this would become a two handed hobby. It was personalized with their initials etched into it and the craftsman assured him that no matter how much paint was glooped onto the ceramic tile, those marks would still be visible. 

Fíli stood, embarrassed and mystified. Then rambling. _You went to a craftsman? These must have cost… you didn’t have to do this, having you is enough, but this will sure keep me busy, but you knew that… you knew that._

Fíli thanked him. The night went by with little sleep but no nail biting.

As did many of their future nights together as things got better. Kíli read aloud from Fíli’s books as his brother painted by the window. His artwork that was once shoved away and hidden in old servants’ quarters in the basement, was hung with care and pride on the walls of their chambers. Kíli’s hair was occasionally braided three times a day by a willing lover. The jar of medicated ointment gathered dust on the shelf in the washroom and Fíli learned that even a future king needs his little brother.


End file.
